Present

After an almost four fucking hour flight, I’m in a helicopter on my way to Seattle Memorial.

Sadie’s going to be fine, I mumble, resting my arms on my thighs. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.

I close my eyes and concentrate on her melted chocolate eyes. Her smile. That dimple that appears on the left side of her mouth when she’s laughing. But the need to numb my pain grows bigger and bigger.

Be strong.

She’s all that matters, not the fucking craving, the thirst for whiskey that squeezes my throat as the minutes pass.

It’s been a long time since the need has won, but there’s always the risk of losing my sobriety. The first time I tasted the alcohol my mother hid under her bed, I was ten. It burnt my tongue, but my body felt unlike anything I’d felt before. Like my mind occupied a different space than my body. I felt superior, unstoppable. It gave me the courage to get through the beatings that my mother’s boyfriend gave us. It got me through the winter nights, and bitter cold when she forgot to pay the electric bill. The loss of my sister was easier to bear when I couldn’t remember my name. It helped me through those days when we barely had food on the table. It helped me forget what I was missing, and it brought me closer to my guitar.

Alcohol became my poison, my weapon, and my way out of life.

Booze was my closest companion until my ex-wife used it against me to take my daughters away. That sobered me up for a while. Sadie though, she is the one who replaced the craving for being numb with the pleasure of living. I lived to make her happy, to enjoy her.

The pleasure of being buried deep inside her, high on her scent and her taste, intoxicated me. She’s my addiction. The only drug I need to survive this life.

Duncan’s words, ‘they don’t know if she’s going to make it,’ only increase the need for a bottle of bourbon. I need a liquid flame burning down my throat, setting my insides on fire while I forget my fucking life. At least for the next few hours. But I can’t. Not when Sadie might need me.

Fuck, I rub my face and grab my phone one more time.

Hades: Have you learned anything new?

Duncan: No, she’s still in surgery.

I called the hospital and pretended to be her husband, and they said that they won’t know anything new until she’s out of surgery.

“We can’t release any information over the phone,” the lady repeated as I begged her to tell me how she was doing.

In no time, the helicopter lands on the helipad at Seattle Memorial. I rush toward the door, taking the stairs two at a time. I open the metal door, walking toward the elevator. The stench of chemicals burns my nose. The smell of sickness and death mixed with antiseptic and the bright fluorescent lights make my stomach churn.

I hate hospitals.

“They said she’s on the third floor,” Jax follows behind me. “Kevin is waiting for us.”

“We’ll take the elevator.” I walk toward the metal doors, pressing the button.

“She’s going to be fine,” he reassures me for what feels like the fucking millionth time.

I enter the elevator and lean against the cold steel wall. I close my eyes, regretting the last six months without her, wishing I had chosen her. Would she be okay if I hadn’t left her? I open my eyes and look at my left hand, reading my knuckles.

S-A-D-I-E.

One word, five letters. Her name tattooed on my hand. Her soul branded to mine. Her heart fused with mine.

When I arrive at the waiting room, I spot Kevin.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Still in surgery.” He gives me a hug, patting my back. “Everything is going to be fine, man.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“A car accident,” he explains. “She was doing the last delivery of the day.”

“That’s all you know?” He shrugs. “Have you seen her?”

“No, but follow me.” He tilts his head and begins to walk toward the elevator. “There’s someone you have to meet.”

“No, I have to stay here,” I halt, calling after him.

“Go, man, I’ll stay here,” Jax pats my back. “If there’s any change I’ll get you right away.”

“Who am I meeting?”

“You’ll see.” He stops right in front of the NICU unit and rings the doorbell.

A nurse waves at us as the door unlocks automatically. We enter the first set of doors and are stopped by a second set of glass doors.

“Put on a gown and a mask,” Kevin orders, pointing at the pile of scrubs. “I’ll be in the waiting room with Jax if you need me.”

As I do what he says, I look through the glass spotting five incubators. Only three of them occupied with tiny babies that have tubes in their little noses and their bodies. I wash my hands, drying them well and step into the dim room.

My pulse speeds as I get closer to the babies. I walk faster and stare at the tag on the side of the crib. Baby Boy Bell.

“A baby,” I mumble unable to tear my eyes from the little thing lying in front of me.

I stare at him for several beats. Unlike my daughters, this little boy is so tiny. His arms are smaller than my thumb. His eyes are covered with a tiny black mask. He looks like a doll with needles in his fragile arms, tubes attached to his nose. I have a little baby boy. I read the tag one more time. Baby boy Bell, four pounds, nineteen inches. No, he should be baby boy Hades-Bell. Just baby boy Hades, because Sadie hates hyphenated last names.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, wanting to hold him and protect him.

“This little guy only needs to stay in the incubator for a few days or weeks before he can go home.”

But how could he when he’s alone, surrounded by machines and people who barely know him. This little guy should be with his mom.

“Mama is going to be fine,” I whisper reaching for his hand.

“Of course, she’ll be fine,” the nurse who is checking his vitals tells me. “Dr. Ward is attending the operation. She’s one of the best doctors in Seattle.”

I pay close attention to the nurse and realize she’s my kids’ pediatrician. “Sorry, Dr. Hawkins. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Hey, you’re fine. This is a lot to process.” She adjusts the tubes close to the baby’s nose. “But I ask you to trust us. They are both in good hands. This little angel is going to be fine. He came out nine weeks earlier than expected, but he’s strong. He’s able to control his body temperature. That’s a big step.”

I touch the crib, yearning to hold him. My baby boy.

“Your hands are washed. You can touch him, but be careful. His skin is still sensitive.”

“Hi,” I mumble feeling his wrinkly skin. The warmth of his body soothes my soul and strengthens my heart.

Turning my attention to Dr. Hawkins, I dare to ask, “Couldn’t you let him stay inside his mom for a few more weeks?”

“Believe me, we considered every option.”

“What do you know about the accident?”

“The other car t-boned hers. It pinned the van against the light pole. They had to cut Sadie out of the car. There are broken ribs, internal bleeding … the placenta separated from the uterus. With her injuries …” she sighs. “To simplify, both baby and Mom had a better chance of survival if we delivered him early.”

“How is she doing now?” I ask in hopes that she has more information.

“Still in the OR. So far, there’s no news, which is good news. As I mentioned, Dr. Ward’s one of the best surgeons in the country. She’ll take good care of her. Until surgery is over, we won’t find out more. In fact, we might not know much for a couple of days.”

“So we wait?”

“While we care for them.” She sets the pen and chart down and touches my baby one last time. She looks at me. “He’s perfect, just too small, but he’ll catch up soon. I’m going home.”

“He needs you,” I say, my heart beating fast. “You can’t leave him.”

“We have a team of nurses watching him twenty-four hours a day,” Dr. Hawkins explains. “I’ll be back here early in the morning.”

“Thank you, doc.” I nod and turn my attention back to my little boy.

“You’re going to be fine, and Mom will be too. We’ll be okay,” I assure him.

God, I know we don’t have a relationship. But please, please, don’t take her away from me. This little guy needs Sadie. We both do.